Take This Leap, Bridge This Gap
by sharkflip
Summary: One change to the past, or maybe two, echoes through time to change the present. Lucy, Rufus, and Flynn return from 1968 to find Wyatt – their Wyatt – replaced by a stranger bearing his name and following Rittenhouse's orders. Post episode 2x03.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Holy shit, sharkflip has written something other than Zutara, that's how good _Timeless_ is. If you're not watching already, go watch. I'll wait.

Back? Okay. This story is set in a nebulously divergent alternate timeline where most of 2x03 happened except that Jessica didn't come back, because that is a Whole Huge Can of Worms that I am very much looking forward to unfolding in the series but didn't want to tackle in this story because there are so many other things to tackle. Also, Flynn has joined the team.

Inspired by _the unknown and static strange_ by extasiswings on Archive of Our Own. Title from "Say Geronimo" by Sheppard.

( _Enslaved_ is not dead, don't worry)

* * *

 _March 16, 1968, Quảng Ngãi Province, South Vietnam_  
 _20:05 Local Time (GMT +7)_

Humidity flooded the time machine as the hatch opened, followed by the smell of swamp and waste. Insects and generators buzzed in the background as Nicholas stared into the darkness. Behind him, he heard Miss Whitmore flipping switches to idle down the machine.

Nicholas set his teeth and scrambled down the face of the machine. His lip curled in disgust at the squelch of mud beneath his boots. Whitmore followed a moment after.

"Mark your clock, Miss Whitmore," he said. "We have exactly thirty-six minutes."

The woman's long hair was tucked up into her cap, her female shape obscured by layers of uniform and kit. _Hardly proper,_ Nicholas thought, and it would barely hold up to scrutiny, but so long as she followed the plan it shouldn't matter.

"This had better work," Emma muttered, adjusting her cap. "I still don't like landing this far into camp."

"As you've stated." Nicholas pulled his notebook from a pocket. "Of course it will work – _if_ you follow my plan. To the _letter_." He pulled a loose sheet of paper from the notebook and held it out to her.

" _Of course_ ," Whitmore muttered, taking the paper.

"Thirty-five minutes," Nicholas reminded her, and turned away into the darkness. His map was crude, information on the camp scarce, but the tent he needed was clear from his research. He strolled between rows of tents, nodding at the few soldiers he passed, and giving Whitmore time to accomplish her part of the plan. The camp lay quiet except for the insects and generators, most of the soldiers asleep after a strenuous day.

The tent he sought lay at the far edge of the encampment, lit from within. Nicholas tucked his notebook back into his pocket and swept aside the door flap. The soldier inside startled, his face weary and wary in the steady lantern light. A pistol lay disassembled on the folding table before him.

"Second Lieutenant Edward James McCaley," Nicholas stated, stepping fully into the tent and folding his hands behind his back.

"Who the fuck are you?" The soldier stood, anger creasing his face.

"Assigned to command the First Platoon of Charlie Company," Nicholas continued. "First Battalion of the Twentieth Infantry Regiment, Eleventh Brigade, Twenty-Third Infantry Division." He turned towards the single lantern and noted how McCaley's face changed when he saw the oak leaf on Nicholas's collar.

"Look, _Major_ –"

" _You,_ Lieutenant, have had quite the day. Haven't you." Nicholas held out his hand to gesture McCaley's chair. "You may sit."

McCaley stared at him, hand hovering by the empty holster at his side.

"Sit _down_ , Lieutenant. We have much to discuss."

McCaley sat slowly, reluctance and suspicion clear on his face and in the tension of his body.

"Second Lieutenant Edward McCaley, commissioned September 7, 1967." Nicholas turned away, taking in the rumpled bedclothes on the cot in the corner, the gear slumped in a corner. "Your superiors at Schofield described you as ' _average_ ' in your officer candidacy evaluation, but your men have a somewhat... _lower_ opinion of you, if the reports are to be believed."

Anger darkened the man's face. "I don't know who you are, but you can't –"

Nicholas turned away from the cot and looked directly at McCaley. "I have come here tonight to tell you that I can change that." He held McCaley's glare, letting the words sink in.

McCaley drew breath to speak again when Emma interrupted, pushing the door flap aside and stepping into the tent. "Haber sends his regards," she said, and set a camera onto the table next to McCaley's sidearm. She reached into her pocket and placed several rolls of film next to it.

McCaley glanced at the camera, then at Emma's face. "You're a _wo_ –"

Nicholas ignored him. "Is it as I instructed you?"

"Yes _sir_." Emma gave a mock salute, then tilted her head, an insolent modern gesture to match the tone of her voice. "I _know_ , just the color film. You made that _very_ clear."

Nicholas sniffed, then turned on his heel, hooking his hands behind his back again. "Tell me, Second Lieutenant. Are you acquainted with the work of Sergeant Donald Haber?"

Bafflement showed now on McCaley's face. "No."

"Are you sure? Because today he became quite familiar with _your_ work." Nicholas stepped towards the table and picked up a film canister, turning it slowly. "Indeed, you may have seen him on the battlefield. He would have been the man with the cameras."

McCaley froze, his eyes widening.

"Ah. I see you begin understand." Nicholas nodded, flipping the film canister in his fingers. "What you do not yet comprehend is that Sergeant Haber had _two_ cameras with him on the battlefield today. We let him keep the one issued to him by your Army. It's the usual fare: burning huts and interrogating your supposed _Viet Cong_."

Nicholas set down the film and picked up the camera, examining it. Such a small thing, to tell so many stories so quickly. "His personal camera, though... these are the interesting ones. The 'money shots,' as you might say." He looked up, straight at McCaley. "Tell me, Lieutenant, how many people did you kill today? Mothers shot in the back defending their children. Men too old to fight or run. Twenty? Fifty?" He lifted the camera to peer through the viewfinder at McCaley. "How many of them do you think Sergeant Haber photographed today? And what do you think he would have done with the prints, if we hadn't intervened."

McCaley swallowed. "Wha – what do you want?"

Nicholas lowered the camera and smiled. "Loyalty, Lieutenant McCaley. To me, and to Rittenhouse. Today, and for the rest of your life."

* * *

 _March 16, 1968, Washington, D.C._  
 _09:41 Local Time (GMT -5)_

" _It's back. It's back, guys – the Mothership is back in D.C._ "

Lucy jumped at Rufus's voice, tinny through the handheld radio. She fumbled to turn the volume down. Around them, the Senate Caucus Room buzzed with conversation.

"Flynn," Lucy hissed. " _Flynn_ – it's back. Rufus says the Mothership just got back."

Ahead of her, Flynn nodded. He'd pointed out the locations of Secret Service agents in the crowd as they waited, and Lucy saw him scanning the room even now.

The crowd hushed suddenly, save for the sound of cameras clicking and flashing. "Flynn! What's happening?"

He half turned to her, ducking his head. "Bobby Kennedy just walked to the podium," he murmured.

Relief washed over her, then confusion. "I still don't get it. Where would the Mothership have gone with Emma's goons still here?"

"Well," Flynn started, nodding at the podium. "They didn't stop the campaign announcement, and I don't see any goons. Maybe our tip was enough?"

Before them and the crush of politicians and reporters, Kennedy spoke solemnly. " _I run to seek new policies – policies to end the bloodshed in Vietnam and in our cities..._ "

Lucy leaned back against the wall. "When haver our tips ever worked?"

"Maybe we got lucky."

Lucy snorts. "I can't believe you of all people just said that."

 _"Lucy? Flynn?"_ Rufus's voice issued from on the radio again. _"The Mothership is back in D.C. Do you copy?"_

Lucy elbowed her way past a reporter, stepping into the hall as she fumbled for the radio. "Yes. Hi. Rufus, we copy. Over?"

Flynn followed her into the hallway, rolling his eyes. Lucy rolled her eyes back at him.

 _"You don't have to say 'over,' we've been over this – wait. Wait!"_

Lucy gripped the radio hard enough to make her fingers ache. "Rufus, what?"

She looked up at Flynn, seeing her sudden worry mirrored on his face.

"Rufus – do you copy?"

 _"Lucy, I copy, but – the mothership just jumped back to the present. They're gone."_

"Are you sure?" Lucy winced. "Sorry, Rufus, I know you're sure. I'm just..." she trailed off, remembering to release the button this time.

 _"So, are you guys heading back here, then?"_

Lucy looked up at Flynn, who shrugged.

Robert Kennedy's voice continued to fill the room. " _In private talks and in public, I have tried in vain to alter our course in Vietnam before it further saps our spirit and our manpower..._ "

"Yeah, Rufus, we're heading back."

* * *

The trees were bare and the ground brown with fallen leaves as Lucy picked her way through mud and brush, but the air held a crisp hint of spring. "I've always thought it was fitting that they built Theodore Roosevelt's memorial in a forest on an island in a swampy river," she said. The trees were shorter now, the woods thinner than they had been when Lucy had visited on a school trip, but it remained the best place to hide the Lifeboat.

"This entire city is a swamp," Flynn replied.

"Literally, yes, it was all swampland when –" she broke off when she saw Flynn smile. "You just want to set me off again."

"Now why would I do that, Lucy? There's no challenge to it."

Rufus sat in the lifeboat, the hatch ajar. "Well? Did you tip off the Secret Service? Did Emma's goons do anything? Did RFK make the announcement?"

Lucy nodded. "RFK is officially in the presidential race, and the goons were quiet. They didn't do anything that we could see."

Flynn snorted. "Nothing we could shoot them for, either."

"Wyatt's going to be glad he missed this one," Rufus said as he settled back into the pilot's chair. "Even if he won't admit it. He hates sitting around waiting. I can't believe he lost a coin toss."

"I can't understand how Flynn rigged the coin toss," Lucy said, and Flynn smirked as he released her hand. She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"But seriously," Rufus started. "Does this make sense to either of you? Emma brings the Mothership to D.C., they hole up in a hotel overnight, then jump somewhere else for –" he checks his watch – "Thirty-six minutes, but we _know_ they're still in March 16, 1968. Then they jump back here, for, like three minutes, and now they've jumped back to the present? What else would they have come back to do?"

Lucy shook her head. "1968 was a turbulent year. There's a lot going on – the Vietnam War was – is – intensifying and anti-war sentiment is growing. No one here knows it yet, but the army just slaughtered 500 innocent villagers in Vietnam – the My Lai Massacre, we call it now, but that story doesn't break until late next year." Flynn held out his hand to help her into the Lifeboat, and she took it to steady herself as she climbed up the rings.

"There was rioting across the country every few weeks – Martin Luther King Junior is assassinated three weeks from now, RFK is assassinated in June... college campus activism is gaining steam." She released Flynn's hand she threaded her way between the seats. "The Civil Rights Act was signed, people were going nuts over the Beatles, the gold standard was repealed, the first two manned Apollo missions got off the ground..." She nodded to Rufus as she flopped down in her seat. "It's a mess. There's hundreds of little things Rittenhouse could have changed without us knowing, for hundreds of different reasons."

Flynn palmed the hatch close button as Rufus started flipping switches. Lucy twisted her knees to the side to let Flynn sit down across from her.

"Do you get the feeling they were just giving us the runaround?" Rufus asked as the lifeboat hummed to life around them

Lucy clicked her seatbelts into place and leaned back against the headrest. Flynn slid into the seat opposite her, their knees brushing as he settled.

"Yeah," she said. "I feel like they were giving us the runaround."

* * *

 _Present Time, Undisclosed Location, Greater San Francisco Bay Area, California_

Lucy waited for her stomach to settle as Flynn unfolded himself from the seat and moved to open the hatch. Beyond, the bunker lay dim and drafty as usual, the air slightly stale, but Jiya's brilliant smile lit up the control area. Connor Mason and Agent Christopher flanked her, expectant. Lucy looked around but didn't see Wyatt.

 _Odd_ , she thought. Those few other times he'd been left behind, he'd uncoiled like a wound spring to help her from the lifeboat and not-so-subtly check her for injuries.

"Well?" Christopher asked as Flynn hopped down to the floor and snagged the ladder.

"Jiya, when was Robert F. Kennedy assassinated?" Lucy asked, stepping down carefully.

Jiya tapped her keyboard, used to the routine, but Christopher responded first. "June 6, 1968. Why? What was supposed to happen instead?"

Lucy shrugged. "Nothing. We have nothing – we don't know what Emma was after or if she changed anything."

"That's not encouraging."

Lucy ran her hand through her hair, rubbing her scalp. "Tell me about it. Where's Wyatt?"

No one answered. Cold pricked along her spine, settled into her stomach. She looked up to find Jiya, Mason, and Christopher watching her expectantly.

"Is he okay?"

"Lucy... who's Wyatt?" Jiya's voice was gentle.

 _No_ , Lucy thought. _No, no, no, no,_ _ **no**_ _._ She forced the panic down, trying to ignore the walls of the bunker closing in around her. _Stay calm, breathe deep,_ she told herself, but her pulse raced, thundering in her ears.

Rufus broke in, tension making his voice sharp. "Wyatt, our team soldier? Blue eyes, kind of scruffy, surprisingly well educated?"

Jiya shook her head and Mason and Christopher exchanged glances.

"Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan, Delta Force?" Flynn offered, no sarcasm in his voice for once.

Time slowed as Christopher, Jiya, Mason all went very still. Jiya looked afraid, Mason surprised, and Christopher's expression carefully blank.

 _This isn't happening_ , Lucy thought. She wondered what her face must look like, because Christopher met her eyes and spoke directly to her.

"Lucy..." she started, her tone gentle. "Wyatt Logan is a Rittenhouse operative."

* * *

 **A** **note on historical figures:** the two "original" characters named in the prologue are based heavily on two real people who were present at the My Lai Massacre on March 16, 1968. I decided to change their names because in the altered timelines of this story, the characters do things that the real people didn't do. The My Lai Massacre was absolutely and inexcusably horrific, but I didn't feel right ascribing additional fictional atrocities to a real person who is still alive, was tried and convicted by a military court, and has publicly expressed remorse. I encourage any and all of you, especially US readers, to learn about it if you don't already know the details.

 **A note on sources:** research for this story was done hastily through Wikipedia and Google, filtered and guided by my experiences with actual legit historical research. If this were for anything other than a fanfic, I'd of course gone to a library and tracked down primary sources, but war and battles are one of those things that Wikipedia is fairly accurate about, if disjointed and selective. Any errors are mine; please feel to correct me so that I can correct the story.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy woke to the smell of coffee and the low background hum of the bunker, fans and lights and the distant vibrating generators. Flynn's voice was barely audible over it from where he sat at a dining table across from Christopher, mugs steaming between them.

"... a valued member of your team, in our timeline. Loyal to a fault. I faced him as an enemy several times before this... _arrangement._ " He waved at the surrounding bunker. "I never saw him waver from his protection of Lucy and Rufus or his dedication to the mission – or from what he felt was his duty to America."

Lucy stretched, feeling the crick in her neck, the ache in her throat. The couch was cramped and hard, but better than going back into the room where Wyatt had held her. Flynn glanced up and met her eyes, but Lucy looked away.

"The Wyatt Logan we've encountered in this timeline is a decorated soldier," Christopher said, "But I've never met him face to face. The security footage was clear, though – he was operating as a team with Emma Whitmore."

"Can't imagine who would stoop _that_ low."

Christopher gave him a dirty look. "And Lucy is... _involved_... with Wyatt, in your timeline?"

Flynn nodded. "For a couple weeks, yes. But it's been a long... courtship."

Lucy pushed herself upright, sliding her legs to the floor and shoving the blanket aside. Exhaustion weighed more heavily on her now than it had the night before. Christopher and Flynn looked over at her but said nothing. Lucy stood and walked to the coffee pot, poured herself a cup, stirred in sugar and cream. She took a sip and leaned against the counter. "Oh, don't let me interrupt." _I don't want your pity or your sympathy._ _Not right now._

Flynn cleared his throat, looking back at Christopher. "As we were saying, I think we can assume that Rittenhouse deliberately changed the timeline to remove Wyatt Logan from our team."

Lucy stared at her coffee, her hands curled around the mug. The silence stretched, and she felt the walls start to close in.

"Good morning," Rufus said from the doorway. "I guess?"

Jiya stood next to him, awkwardness in her posture. "I pulled the records you asked for," she said to Christopher, holding out a tablet and a thick file folder.

Christopher accepted both, putting the folder on the table and thumbing on the tablet. She skimmed the screen and nodded, then handed it to Rufus. She pushed the folder across the table and gestured to Lucy to take a seat.

"What's this?" Flynn asked as Lucy moved to stand beside him, looking at the folder.

"The complete, unredacted service file for one Wyatt Logan, Master Sergeant, US Army Special Forces." She nodded at Lucy and Rufus. "Read it. Figure out what's changed."

Rufus sighed. "Wyatt – our Wyatt – didn't talk much about his past much. Especially his military service."

Christopher shrugged. "Well, do what you can."

Jiya squeezed Rufus's shoulder, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll make breakfast."

Lucy sat slowly and opened the folder, angling it so that Flynn could read the contents as well. Rufus sat next to Christopher, skimming down through the tablet and reading aloud.

"Wyatt Theodore Logan. Grew up outside El Paso, Texas. Dropped out of high school a month short of graduation and enlisted in the army the day after his eighteenth birthday."

Lucy picked up the photo on top of the file, a service portrait. Wyatt posed unsmiling in dress uniform before a flag, pride clear in his squared shoulders and the stiff tilt of his head.

"Completed basic training at Fort Sill in Lawton, Oklahoma. Assigned to the Third Brigade of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, based out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina... Immediately deployed to the Middle East as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom." Rufus whistled. "Straight to Fallujah."

Flynn snorted. "The Eighty-Second was pulled out of Fallujah before the part you're thinking of."

"Whatever, man. I'm not going to pretend I know anything that wasn't on CNN."

Lucy turned over a sheet of paper to find another photograph, this one of a very young Wyatt grinning in full combat gear and mirrored sunglasses, endless desert stretching behind him.

"In March 2004, he returned stateside," Rufus continued. "Oh, get this – in September 2005, his unit was deployed to New Orleans for search and rescue after Hurricane Katrina."

"In April 2006, he was approved for two months of bereavement leave to Texas for the death of his grandfather. Married in early January 2007 to Jessica Williams, high school sweetheart – looks like they reconnected while he was back in Texas? Then he deployed to Afghanistan in late January 2007 for another phase of Operation Enduring Freedom. Wow, no honeymoon phase for the newlyweds. May 2008, completed coursework remotely for a bachelor's degree from Duke University, majoring in Linguistics with a minor in German – did we know Wyatt went to college?"

Lucy shrugged. "Delta Force is considered the best of the best – I'm not surprised."

"August 2009, accepted for Special Forces training in Fort Bragg... December 2010, assigned as a Weapons Sergeant to the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment, headquartered in Fort Benning, Georgia. September 2011, wife Jessica Logan – _oh my god._ "

Lucy startled, jostling her coffee. She moved it aside to protect the folder, and Flynn handed her a napkin. "What?"

Rufus looked up at her. "In September 2011, Jessica Logan was killed in a terror attack on domestic soil."

"Oh my god," Lucy echoed. Beside her, Flynn went very still.

"What?" Christopher asked, looking up from her own tablet.

Flynn put his hand on the table, fingers spread over the files. "The 2011 terror attack in Georgia. What happened?"

Christopher blinked. "On September 11, 2011, five homemade bombs went off on the grounds of Fort Benning. Fifty-seven people were killed, most of them civilians. Half a dozen groups worldwide claimed responsibility, and we looked at all of them, but we always suspected it was domestic. The investigation is ongoing."

Flynn leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "That means you don't know who did it."

"That means we don't know who did it," she admitted, her expression hard. "I take it that's changed."

" _Yeah_ ," Rufus jumped back in. "Not only did that not happen in our timeline, but Jessica – Wyatt's wife – was murdered a year later. In 2012. He still wasn't over her death when we met him."

Lucy turned over another page. Wyatt and the woman she recognized as Jessica smiled up from a photograph, cheeks pressed together and dressed in wedding finery. Paperclipped to it was a marriage certificate and a death certificate, an entire relationship reduced to a footnote.

"In 2012, he's accepted as a candidate for First Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta. Completed 'Operator Training' later that year, deployed to Pakistan, Egypt, Pakistan again, Afghanistan again, Syria, Colombia, Mexico, Nicaragua... In March 2016, he's assigned to a cross-border anti-drug-smuggling joint task force based out of Camp Pendleton, California. Well, that explains why he wouldn't watch _Sicario_ with me. January 2018, assigned to a domestic operation, Codename 'Renaissance.' No detail on that service, but it _definitely_ sounds innocent." Rufus looked up at Christopher. "Did you read this?"

"Of course I read it. The first time was right after he helped Emma steal the Mothership. I haven't been able to find any information about Operation Renaissance. We've been running with the assumption that it's a Rittenhouse front from inside the government."

"Wait, wait, wait – _Wyatt_ helped steal the mothership?"

"Not only did he steal the mothership, he's been involved in several of Rittenhouse's operations since then. You've told me he was there in history at least three times."

"Okay, okay, back up. When we were recruited – when Flynn first stole the mothership?" Rufus glanced again at Christopher, who nodded. "Who was partnered with Lucy and I then?"

"A Delta Force soldier named Dave Baumgardner. He was in Logan's squad in – "

"Yeah, we know Bam-Bam." Rufus sighed. "Where is he now?"

"He was killed in action on a mission." She nodded at Flynn. "By one of your men, if Lucy and Rufus recalled correctly."

"I'm sorry," Flynn said, his expression complicated. "In this timeline, and in ours."

"Well, sorry won't bring him back." Christopher set her tablet on the table and powered it down. "So?"

Lucy looked at the files spread out on the table before her. "I don't think we can say whether his deployments and assignments changed, but –" she tapped the death certificate. "— we know for sure there was no 2011 terrorist attack in our timeline, and that Jessica didn't die until 2012, so that seems like the place to start."

Christopher laced her hands together, thoughtful. "I'll see what I can do. A lot of that incident is still very classified."

Mason strolled into the common room. "Well, aren't you all a cheerful bunch."

"Connor, could you help me set out plates?" Jiya asked.

"Of course, my dear."

Lucy studied the file photos of Wyatt as the others moved to clear a table for breakfast. She picked up one, a recent shot by the look of it. Wyatt stood in tactical gear, rifle slung across his chest and hair cropped short, looking beyond the camera into the middle distance. Something cold and grim weighted his expression that she'd never seen before. She tried to remember his smile, his smirks and his grins, the way his eyes crinkled even if his mouth didn't move.

The Mothership alarm blared, startling Lucy nearly out of her chair.

"Oh _come on_ , we were just about to eat!" Rufus licked cream cheese from his thumb as he stood to follow Jiya to the control room. Lucy slid Wyatt's photos back into the folder before she moved to follow.

Jiya already tapped at keyboard, analyzing the readouts. "Okay – got it. May Fourteenth, 1903... Oakland."

Everyone in the bunker turned to Lucy. She shrugged, and Jiya nodded.

"May Fourteenth... 1903... Oakland, California..." she muttered as she typed, then scrolled through the results. "Teddy Roosevelt is in town, part of a 'whistle stop speaking tour of the western states.'" Jiya looked up at Lucy. "He's giving the commencement speech at UC Berkley."

* * *

 _May 14, 1903, Berkeley, California_  
 _13:24 Local Time (GMT -8)_

 _"I ask of you the straightforward, earnest performance of duty in all the little things that come up day by day in business, in domestic life, in every way, and then when the opportunity comes, if you have thus done your duty in the lesser things, I know you will rise level to the heroic needs."_

Berekley's Greek Amphitheater thundered with applause, students and faculty and family standing to cheer as the President finished speaking. Roosevelt raised his hands grandly to wave at the crowd and salute with his hat, the sleeves of his academic robes billowing.

Lucy watched from her place among the faculty guests, surging to her feet to clap in appreciation.

The President gave a final salute, then turned to exit the stage. Another man swept in, still clapping – Benjamin Wheeler, she recalled, the current university president. "Excuse me," she whispered to the woman sitting beside her as Wheeler began to speak. "I just need to – thanks." She picked her way slowly out of the seating area, slipping out of the amphitheater. Rufus and Flynn waited for her just outside.

"No sign of Rittenhouse from the top rows," Rufus reported.

"Not from the stage, either," Flynn said. "Lucy?"

Lucy shook her head, wiping her eyes. "No, I didn't see anyone who shouldn't be here."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I um – I've read most of Theodore Roosevelt's speeches, several times, and I've listened to the recordings, but I never imagined I'd see one in person." She blew out her breath in a long sigh. "This job does have its moments."

"Well, I'm glad you had a good seat, then." Rufus elbowed her. "I still can't believe you let Flynn mug a professor so you could steal her clothes and take her place."

Flynn and Lucy shrugged in tandem. "Well, I _am_ a visiting professor from Stanford..."

"If that's what you have to tell yourself. That still leaves us wondering what Rittenhouse is here to do, though."

They followed Roosevelt and his procession through the Berkeley campus. The President took his time, greeting well-wishers and kissing babies. The sky stretched brilliantly blue over them, the rolling hills above them green with spring growth. Grand Victorian buildings stood between the walkways, sparse compared to the Berkeley of her time.

Ahead where the campus avenue met the street, a procession of coaches waited at the curb and the presidential procession slowed to a halt. Lucy stood on tiptoes, but all she could see were waving arms and a commotion.

"What's happening?" she asked Flynn.

Flynn's expression changed from vigilant to amused. "The President has refused to get in the carriage prepared for him."

The crowd ahead of them began moving again, fanning out on the sidewalks. Rufus watched, incredulous. "So he's – he's _walking_ to his next stop?"

Lucy smiled. "Roosevelt is famous for things like this. He loved being outside and chafed at many of the security restrictions imposed by his guards. He'd give his security detail the slip sometimes – he snuck out of the White House to bushwhack through Rock Creek Park in –"

She stopped midstride. Flynn and Rufus stopped and turned to look back at her. She held up a hand, remembering a lecture long passed.

... _The third National Park established was Rock Creek Park, authorized in 1890 within the boundaries of Washington, D.C..._

 _... in 1916 Woodrow Wilson signed the Organic Act to Establish a National Park Service to promote and regulate the use of the Federal areas known as national parks, monuments and reservations..._

She pictured Roosevelt's scrawling handwriting. _We liked Rock Creek Park because we could do much scrambling and climbing along the cliffs..._

"I know what they're trying to do!"

Lucy paced forward as Rufus and Flynn watched her. "After he leaves here, Roosevelt is going to Yosemite for a three-day camping trip with John Muir. During that trip, Muir convinces him to put Yosemite back into the national park system – it's been held by California since the Civil War. Roosevelt left committed to the idea that federal land must be managed for the public, rather than by private interests. The National Park Service, the National Forests, federal wildlife sanctuaries – all of it comes from that trip. And – and later, it was Roosevelt who signed the Antiquities Act, which allowed federal control of culturally significant areas and led to the National Monument system."

She looked up. "This camping trip shapes land management policy for the next century, steering it towards public interest. Rittenhouse must want to reverse that. Plus, the National Parks indelibly shaped America's self-image, especially in the Thirties, Forties, and Fifties."

"America's best idea," Rufus said.

"Right!"

"What?" asked Flynn

"The national parks," Rufus responded. "America's Best Idea. I remember that from school trips."

Lucy nodded. "Wallace Stegner."

"Who?" Rufus and Flynn spoke in unison.

"Wallace Stegner. Writer and historian. He wrote that the national parks were the best idea we ever had – American democracy at its finest."

Lucy stopped in the middle of the path. "Oh my god."

* * *

 _May 14, 1903, Oakland, California_  
 _20:06 Local Time (GMT -8)_

Evening fell as Roosevelt's private train rolled into the Oakland railroad station, bound for an overnight ride to the tiny town of Raymond. Spectators overwhelmed the small platform, pressed elbow to elbow beyond the roped-off aisle for the President. Members of the entourage, diplomats and their wives and a few children, boarded the train in small groups, but the President had yet to appear.

Lucy scanned the crowd from beside the station building, her back against the glass window and Flynn standing beside her. Near the train, Rufus carried luggage, dressed as a Pullman Porter. He looked up and found them in the crowd, then deliberately shrugged. Lucy shrugged in response, and Rufus turned away to pick up another trunk.

Flynn leaned down. "Time to split up," he said, and Lucy nodded. She made her way along the wall of the station building, searching the crowd and trying not to trip over her skirts. The fashionably wide ladies' hats made it hard to scan for faces, and every glimpse of red or blond hair drew her attention.

The crowd thinned as she worked her around another side of the station building. Two women walked next to each other ahead, away from the event rather than toward it. They went around the corner and Lucy hurried to follow, hope and dread warring in her throat.

She turned the corner and ran straight into someone, a man dressed in stiff collar and sack suit. "Oh, pardon me," Lucy began, then looked up.

Wyatt stared back at her. Surprise lit his eyes for an instant, then slid into the grim lines of what she called his soldier face.

She lurched backward, but he caught her arm, his fingers tight around her wrist

"Doctor Preston. We've been wondering when you would show up."

* * *

Notes: So, I ended up doing way, way more research for this chapter than I planned or wanted to. I've listed some key sources on the Archive of Our Own version of this fic, but since is shit with links, I'm not bothering to do so here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** This chapter took way longer than I expected, because I did too much research and found too much story to write and details to include and it sort of turned into a full "episode" that demanded way more scenes than planned. I honestly kind of want to cut half the middle scenes and streamline it all, but I've written them so you might as well read them. Oh well.

Also, this story has sort of become pre-Lucy/Wyatt/Flynn because Garcia Flynn has SO MUCH CHEMISTRY with EVERYONE and since the story that inspired this one was a triad fic, this one might well end up that way, too. My apologies to anyone for whom that's a bait and switch, but sometimes a story takes on a life of its own. Especially if you scream about TV shows on Tumblr.

* * *

Lucy stood frozen, her pulse thundering in her ears as she stared at Wyatt. He'd shaved recently, for once, and his hair was shorter than she'd ever seen it, slicked down in Edwardian fashion.

" _Wyatt,_ " she breathed.

His expression changed, his brows raising in surprise again, but no warmth lit his face, no smile curved his lips or crinkled his eyes. "Where are Flynn and Carlin?" he demanded.

He glanced up, surveying the crowd, and Lucy forced herself to action. She stomped down on his insole and twisted her arm to break his grip on her wrist, just like he'd taught her decades from now, and ran.

Wyatt lunged after her, his fingers brushing hers for an instant before she shoved through the crowd. " _Help!_ " she screamed, trying not to stumble. "Help me, _please!_ "

Two police officers emerged from the crow ahead of her and she ran towards them. "That man, he – _accosted_ me!" She turned around, the police beside her.

Wyatt skidded to a stop and Lucy saw him assess the situation, then turn and walk into the crowd. One of the officers followed, but she knew Wyatt would slip away.

"Are you okay, madam?" asked the other police officer.

"Yes, thank you," Lucy said, smoothing down her jacket. "That man, he grabbed me, and –"

Flynn shoved his way past three men standing nearby, stopping beside her. "Lucy, what happened?" He looked her up and down, concern written across his face.

"It's fine, I'm fine, I just –"

"Do you want to file a report, madam?" the police officer asked.

"No, no thank you." Lucy feigned sheepishness. "Perhaps I overreacted."

Flynn put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Thank you for your help, officers. It's been a long day for my wife."

"It's our pleasure to be of service." The police officer tipped his hat. "Sir. Madam."

Flynn squeezed her arm and guided her towards the station building. "Lucy, what happened?" he repeated when they stood against the wall.

Lucy focused on her breathing, on the wall behind her, on Flynn's hand still on her arm. "It was Wyatt. He recognized me, but it was like he was looking at a stranger. He –" She slid her hands over her face. "I knew this was going to happen, at some point, but it was worse than I thought it would be."

Flynn moved his hand to her back, rubbing gentle circles with his palm. "Lucy, I'm sorry. I –"

A steam whistle cut him off as the train began to move. Lucy looked up as the crowd around them cheered. Movement in the windows drew her eye, some of the passengers waving, others conversing with their fellows. A familiar face in one window caught her attention and Lucy again felt her heart race. _Mom._

"Oh no," she whispered.

"Lucy, what –" Flynn followed her gaze and stiffened at the sight of her mother, muttering a curse. Carol Preston looked up as the train car pulled away from the platform, meeting Lucy's eye for an instant. She smiled, dark and satisfied, and then the car moved out of sight.

" _Guys!_ "

Lucy startled, and beside her Flynn reached for his gun. They both relaxed when Rufus emerged from the thinning crowd, until he grabbed them each by the arm.

"This way, _quickly_ ," Rufus hissed, pulling them into the station house.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked as Rufus took off his uniform hat and ducked onto a bench.

"The _actual_ Pullman Porters realized that no one here recognized me, and they got suspicious. These guys take their work _really_ seriously. Anyway, what happened to you, Lucy? I heard you yell."

"I um... I found Wyatt?"

" _And?_ "

Lucy took a deep breath. "He... acted like a Rittenhouse agent. He grabbed my arm, and called me _'Doctor Preston,'_ and asked where you two were."

"And?"

"And I did that self-defense move that he taught us, and got away, and yelled for the police. He took off."

"Oh my god." The sympathy on his face was almost more than Lucy could bear. "So... what now?"

Lucy wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Mom – _Carol_ – is on the train with Roosevelt, so I think we can assume that Rittenhouse is trying to change or cancel the Yosemite trip."

Flynn smirked. "So we stop them. Just like always."

Lucy huffed out a laugh. "Just like always."

Rufus pulled a crumpled handbill from his uniform jacket and smoothed it against his leg. He ran his finger down the listings. "Okay, there's a special train this evening, also to Raymond – looks like a lot of people want to be Roosevelt groupies."

"Rufus, how much power does the lifeboat have?" Lucy asked. "How many jumps?"

"Probably two more before we have to charge. Why?"

"You should meet us in Yosemite."

" _What?_ "

"Lucy, are you sure?" Flynn asked.

"From here to Raymond is almost two hunted miles by train. It'll take us probably six hours to get there, just twiddling our thumbs. Anything Rittenhouse is going to do at this point, they're going to do in Yosemite, not here. So it makes sense to move our base of operations."

Flynn nodded. "Especially if we need to make a hasty exit."

"Okay, that's a good point," Rufus admitted. "But it's going to be really hard to pinpoint a landing that's not preprogrammed from GPS coordinates."

Flynn shrugged. "Yosemite is big. You'll have plenty of space."

"Yeah, fine, but how are we going to find each other once we all get there?"

"That's what we have radios for, right?" Lucy replied. "And there's no one listening on this side of the country in 1903, so you can boost the signals as high as we need."

"Fine, fine." Rufus shrugged. "Where should I try to aim for, at least?"

"Yosemite Village, right in the middle of the park. Roosevelt's tour should be going through there on their second night. We should end up in radio distance of each other, even if you can't find the village itself."

"I really don't like this plan, but –" Rufus held up his hand to cut Lucy off. "No, I don't have a better one, so okay. I'll go start programming the destination, but it sounds like I have plenty of time to get there."

"Thank you, Rufus," Lucy said, and hugged him again.

"Now if you'll excuse us," Flynn tipped his hat. "It appears we have a train to catch."

* * *

 _May 15, 1903, Raymond, California_

 _10:31 Local Time (GMT -8)_

Lucy woke to brilliant sunlight and a crick in her neck. Outside, the trees passed by slower than they had the night before, when she'd watched the moonlit scenery pass until the swaying train lulled her to sleep. Now, she slumped against the window, her legs curled up on the bench and tucked alongside Flynn's thigh. She felt snug and warm, and realized that Flynn's coat was draped over her. "Sorry – um," she wiped her eyes. "Long day, I guess."

Flynn smiled at her, surprisingly gentle. "Raymond is the next stop."

Lucy stretched, unfolding her legs and extending her arms. She bundled Flynn's coat up and passed it back to him, then smoothed down her hair and resettled her skirt, thinking through their next several steps.

Her face must have fallen, as Flynn tilted his head to study her. "What's wrong?"

"I just realized that we'll probably have to steal horses."

Flynn shrugged. "Probably."

"I just – I know we steal cars and clothes all the time, but I hate the thought of stealing someone's horses. Especially in a national park."

"That's the line you won't cross?" Flynn tilted his head to peer down at her. "You help kidnap presidents and free terrorists from jail, but you won't steal a horse?"

His voice was light, teasing, and Lucy smiled despite remembering all the other lines that she'd crossed in their struggle against Rittenhouse.

The town of Raymond appeared to be cleaning up from the President's visit when Lucy and Flynn stepped off the train. Bunting decorated every building in sight, and the streamers and flyers littering the ground told of departed crowds. The grandest-decorated building bore a sign reading Bowen Hotel, where a girl swept up fallen streamers on the verandah.

"Excuse me, miss," Lucy started. "My mother is traveling with the President's party into Yosemite, and I have an urgent message for her. Can you tell me which direction they went?"

The girl paused her sweeping to nod at the road. "The President and his people loaded up into stages, a couple of them. They're headed into the park, along the main road. I heard them say they're bound for Mariposa Grove this afternoon." Her expression became starstruck. "The cavalry is escorting them. Thirty dapple gray horses, all done up with ribbons." She turned back to Lucy. "They're staying overnight at the hotel in Wawona, or so they said."

"Thank you very much," Lucy said, and started to turn away.

"Oh!" the girl called out. "If you're going to hire horses, I recommend O'Malley's Outfitters, one block that way."

Lucy glanced sideways at Flynn, only to find him smirking at her already.

* * *

"That was certainly easier than stealing horses," Lucy remarked.

Afternoon sunlight dappled the road, filtering through tall trees and underbrush. The air smelled like fresh pine and spring, and Lucy found herself enjoying the ride despite the circumstances.

"And stealing money to rent a horse is somehow better?" Flynn asked.

Lucy let herself rise to the bait. "I didn't say _better_ – I said _easier_. We have enough to worry about without being labeled as horse thieves."

"Can't argue with _that_." Flynn looked over his shoulder, back down the road. "All clear to start radio checks."

"Right." Lucy opened her saddlebag and found the radio, bunded into a discreet leather case with a compact solar charger. She turned it on and double-checked the channel. "Lifeboat, Lifeboat, Lifeboat, this is Lucy." She released the button and they listened to dead air, not even the crackle of static. "Lifeboat, Lifeboat, Lifeboat, this is Lucy."

She met Flynn's eyes and returned his shrug, then turned the radio down and placed back in her saddlebag.

Late afternoon shadows fell over the valley when Flynn sat up in his saddle, scanning the trees ahead of him and tilting his head to listen. Lucy swallowed her questions, then heard hoofbeats.

Dappled gray horses rode into view a moment later, their riders wearing smart uniforms. "Here comes the cavalry," Flynn said. He tipped his hat as the lead rider cantered by, then counted aloud as each additional horse passed. "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and no number thirty. That will be our boy Wyatt, if I'm not mistaken."

They rode in silence for a few moments, hoofbeats fading behind them, until Flynn looked over at her. "Lucy, this is when you're supposed to tell me 'oh, it's a good thing you're never mistaken' in a sarcastic voice."

She smiled. "Sorry... I guess I'm off my stride." She looked back down the road to make sure that the cavalry had ridden out of sight, then pulled out the radio again.

"Lifeboat, Lifeboat, Lifeboat, this is Lucy."

Static crackled, then a voice came over the channel. "Lucy, this is Rufus, on the Lifeboat. I read you."

"Rufus, it's good to hear you. Where are you?"

"I don't know how, but I got lucky. The Lifeboat landed just outside Yosemite Village."

"That's great! Any sign of our _friends?_ "

"I have eyes on Emma now. She's checking into the hotel. And I saw Wyatt ride in a little while ago – he's dressed as a cavalry officer."

Lucy rolled her eyes at Flynn's smirk. "Copy that, Rufus. Sit tight, we'll see you tomorrow."

"Copy that, Lucy. Lifeboat, standing by."

Lucy put the radio away and sat back in her saddle. "That's a relief."

"Why?"

"Because while I don't know exactly what route Roosevelt is going to take tomorrow, I know it's going to be _strenuous_. This is the man who used to spend a day off orienteering through Rock Creek Park following a straight line he'd drawn on the map."

Flynn snorted. " _Americans._ You and the Russians are far more alike than you'd like to pretend."

Lucy smiled. "That also means we don't have to camp in Mariposa Grove tonight near the President – we can push on to Wawona and stay at the hotel there. That's where the rest of the presidential party should be staying – they think that Roosevelt is joining them for dinner, but he's camping by Mariposa Grove tonight." She frowned. "That's probably where my mother is, too."

* * *

"Room for two overnight," Flynn told the young man behind the counter at the Wawona Hotel.

Feminine laughter drew Lucy's attention to a group of women seated in the lobby on a cluster of wicker couches. She recognized several of them from the train station, including –

 _Mom_.

Carol Preston sat on the end of one couch, teacup in hand and watching the other women. She appeared casual, but the tension in her shoulders showed familiar boredom.

Lucy leaned into Flynn's shoulder. "If I'm wrong," she murmured, "I'm going to need your help to get out of here fast."

"Lucy, what –" he started, but she had already stepped across the lobby.

She took a deep breath and put on a huge smile. "Good evening, Mother."

Carol looked up and the smile faded from her face, her cheeks paling. "Lucy, darling. What a surprise." She glanced around the lobby and Lucy noted when she saw Flynn standing by the desk, watching them. Carol turned back to the dignitaries' wives who watched the interaction. "Girls, this is my daughter, Lucy."

One of the ladies turned to Carol. "Why, I didn't know you and Frederick had children, Elizabeth. How delightful!"

Lucy forced herself to smile. "Oh, our family is just full of surprises." She sat down on the couch across from Carol. "Tell me, is _father_ here, as well?"

Carol returned the forced smile. "Yes, we're both along to honor the president."

Another lady spoke up. "We're all traveling to Yosemite Village tomorrow, to celebrate the President's visit the night after. I hear that the Park Commissioners have brought a chef in from San Francisco to cater the banquet!"

"How exciting!" Lucy replied.

"Yes, very," Carol said.

Across the lobby, Flynn leaned against the registration desk. He jerked his head towards the hallway when he caught her eye. Lucy stood up. "Excuse me, ladies – I'll catch up with you later." She held her mother's eyes for a long moment before she turned to walk away.

Flynn waited, his raised eyebrows asking a silent question. Lucy shook her head but took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her down the hallway. The stopped in front of a room and Flynn opened the door, then gestured for her to enter ahead of him. She tossed her hat on the bed and started pacing while he closed and locked the door.

"So, my mother is apparently here posing as the wife of a sleeper agent who's some kind of dignitary traveling with the President."

Flynn leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. "And I take it she didn't expect her dearest daughter to show up in front of her new friends?"

Lucy grinned. "Not at all." She sobered, thinking back to the brief conversation. "According to Mom's _new friends_ , there's a banquet and celebration being planned for Roosevelt in Yosemite Village on the last night of his visit." She stopped at the window, staring out at the twilight. She thought back to term papers and seminars, curriculum development and conference presentations.

"I don't remember all the specifics of the camping trip, but I know that Roosevelt didn't stay in any of the hotels offered him. He roughed it, all three nights. The last night of the trip was apparently when Roosevelt and Muir had their most influential campfire talks. If Rittenhouse persuades Roosevelt to attend the banquet instead, I don't know if he'll become a champion for the National Parks like he's supposed to."

"So then what I'm hearing, Lucy, is that we need to sabotage a banquet."

Lucy laughed despite herself. "Well, that's one way to keep Roosevelt from attending."

* * *

"That's George Pardee, the current governor of California," Lucy said, pointing discretely. She and Flynn had risen early to arrive in Yosemite Village well before the president's entourage. Rufus joined them now on the second-story porch of the Sentinel Hotel, watching dignitaries exit the stage coaches.

"Beside him is Benjamin Wheeler, the current president of UC Berkeley. I think the third man is John Stevens, the 'Guardian' of the park. And those must be their wives."

Lucy flinched as Carol stepped out of the coach next, helped by an older man.

"And that must be _Frederick_ ," Flynn said.

"Who's Frederick?" Rufus asked.

"A sleeper agent, we assume." Flynn nodded. "And here comes Emma."

They watched as Emma nodded at Carol, who excused herself from Frederick and the other dignitaries. The two women strolled casually onto the ground-level porch. Lucy followed carefully along the balcony, listening to their voices and waving at Flynn and Rufus to stay back.

"This situation is out of control," Emma hissed. "Roosevelt is off camping with Muir – _exactly_ what we were supposed to stop him from doing."

"It appears Frederick failed to anticipate how strong-willed Roosevelt would be," Carol said, her voice annoyed.

"Roosevelt founded a political group called the Bull Moose Party! Which, for the record, I learned about in _eighth grade_ , so it doesn't exactly take a historian to figure out. How did Frederick fail to think he'd be stubborn?"

Carol's voice now held resignation. "Regardless of Frederick's failings, we have to make sure Roosevelt doesn't spend tomorrow night around the campfire with John Muir if we have any hope of salvaging our primary objective this mission."

"We'd have a better shot at that if we weren't _always_ a man down because you insist on keeping a seat free for your wayward daughter. Who, by the way, _you_ keep failing to rein in."

Carol didn't flinch. "Roosevelt won't arrive here until tomorrow afternoon. That's plenty of time to convince the Parks Commissioners to insist on his attendance at the banquet."

"Well, if that fails, then we have to kill Muir."

"Emma –"

"You said we had to keep Muir from talking to Roosevelt about conservation. All your plans have failed so far. You also said that Roosevelt is too intertwined in other crucial events to kill, but Muir's an old man. If you want to salvage this plan, _that's_ the way."

 _May 17, 1903, Yosemite Village, California_

 _14:30 Local Time (GMT -8)_

Lucy and Rufus watched again from the hotel's second-story porch as Theodore Roosevelt rode into Yosemite Village, dusty and grinning. Four other men accompanied him on horseback, John Muir instantly recognizable with his long beard and gaunt frame. The other three men, Lucy knew, were park rangers and a mule packer.

Before the hotel, Governor Pardee, President Wheeler, and Guardian Stevens stood at the front of a modest crowd gathered for the occasion.

Roosevelt reined his horse in as the crowd began to cheer. Annoyance crossed his face. He turned conferred briefly with the man Lucy recognized as John Muir, then guided his horse into walking back onto the road, away from the hotel and other buildings. The rest of the mounted party followed, ambling a bridge over the river.

Wheeler, Pardee, and Stevens looked at each other, dismay clear on their faces before they hurried after him on foot. Other dignitaries and members of the entourage followed, as well as four men Flynn had identified as Secret Service agents.

Rufus turned to Lucy. "So, they prepared this huge party for Roosevelt, and he's just going to roll on through?"

"It certainly looks that way." Relief made Lucy giddy, but she reminded herself that it wasn't over yet.

They watched as the President crossed the river and dismounted by a cabin tucked into the hillside, followed by Muir and the park rangers. They entered the cabin, followed soon after by the men hurrying to catch up.

Below the porch, the crowd murmured, beginning to disperse. Many people moved towards the hotel's banquet hall, while others headed towards the bridge.

"Do you see Flynn?" Rufus asked.

"No, but I'm not surprised."

Soon, Roosevelt and his five-person group emerged from the cabin, mounted up, and rode out down the road. The gaggle of dignitaries filed out as well to stand in front of the cabin, staring after them. "They're leaving?" Rufus asked.

"It looks that way," Lucy replied, hardly daring to hope.

Flynn joined them a few minutes later.

"Well?" Rufus demanded.

" _Well_ ," Flynn started. "Roosevelt accepted a glass of champagne and the key to the valley, declared that they are pitching camp tonight at Bridalveil, and ignored all attempts to convince him otherwise. The Governor is quite upset that Roosevelt isn't staying for the party planned for this evening – apparently, there will be fireworks!"

Lucy sagged in relief. "All that, and Rittenhouse couldn't stop Teddy Roosevelt from being... Teddy Roosevelt."

"And here I was, looking forward to sabotaging a banquet."

Rufus still looked uneasy. "That's great news, but are you sure you weren't seen by the Secret Service?"

Flynn snorted. "The 1903 Secret Service is nothing compared to the 1996 _Hrvatski Gardijski Zdrug_. Trust me, I wasn't seen."

"The Hrvatski...?" Lucy asked.

"Not the time, guys!" Rufus said. He nodded towards a group of men returning from the cabin, their alert glances and rigid postures identifying them as secret service. One of them, though...

Lucy sucked in a breath as she recognized Wyatt, walking in the second row. Dressed in plain clothes again, he looked bored and frustrated. The heartsick loneliness she'd tried to control surged up, tightening her throat.

"As I was saying," Flynn continued. "The Secret Service appear to have accepted Wyatt as one of their own."

"That's great. Just, great." Rufus scrubbed a hand over his face.

Lucy pushed her feelings down, trying to think clearly. "It might... actually be great. For us. Roosevelt didn't want the Secret Service – or any guards – intruding on his nature experience, so he kept them at arms' length. If we're lucky, Wyatt won't be _able_ to get close to him."

Rufus snorted. "Lucky. Us. _Right_."

"Well," Flynn started. "Since their only option at this point is to kill Muir, Wyatt – and Emma – are doubtlessly going to _try_ to get close. Let's head them off." He pulled the map out of his pocket and nodded at Lucy. "I'll take the north side of the river, you take the south side. When we get to Bridalveil, you take the east trail and I'll take the west trail. Stay out of sight of Roosevelt and his party, and I'll find you."

"Okay, but what do I do if I encounter... _Rittenhouse_ first?"

Flynn tips his head at her bag. "That's what your radio is for. Or, you can just yell."

"I'll stay here," Rufus declared. "Someone needs to keep an eye on Carol and _Frederick_. I'll radio you if they move."

* * *

Afternoon bled into evening as Lucy rode up the east Bridalveil Trail, the shadows lengthening and a chill bleeding into the day's warmth. Anxiety gnawed at her gut. _Flynn has found them by now_ , she thought. _They just took the other road, and Flynn has it under control_.

A branch snapped in the woods beside her and Lucy jumped as her horse shied beneath her, its muscles rippling her. "Whoa, there," she murmured, but then she looked up and her own hair stood on end.

Wyatt stepped onto the path ahead of them. His hands were held out in a calming gesture, but Lucy knew just how fast he could have a weapon ready.

" _Wyatt_ ," she whispered. She slid off her horse, managing not to stumble as her feet hit the ground.

"Doctor Preston." He tilted his head, his hands still outstretched. "That's twice in three days."

Lucy stared at him, her tongue frozen while her heart raced.

"Usually it's ' _Logan!'_ Now, it's ' _Wyatt.'_ I didn't know you cared."

Lucy swallowed. "Wyatt, there's something –"

 _"Lucy!"_

Wyatt spun into a ready stance, gun in his hands faster than Lucy could track. Flynn emerged from the woods, his own weapon already drawn. "Lucy, get behind me," he growled, not taking his eyes off Wyatt. "Wyatt, you stay _right_ where you are."

Lucy stepped out of Flynn's reach, towards Wyatt, her own hands now extended in a gesture of peace. Flynn cursed, while Wyatt looked surprised.

"Lucy, get behind me, _please!_ You don't know how – "

She took another step forward, not taking her eyes from Wyatt. "Flynn – _Garcia!_ Please, don't –"

"Lucy, I _know_ you want to bring him home, but this Wyatt – I will _not_ let him hurt you."

Wyatt watched her advance, his gun aimed at a point behind her. "Doctor Preston, I don't want to hurt you." His cool, professional tone of voice hurt more than if he'd been angry. "I know you think Flynn is on your side, but he's a terrorist and a murderer. I've promised your mother I'd try to rescue you, but I can't do that if you're protecting him."

"Flynn's not a terrorist – maybe he _was_ , but now he's working with me. With us. And you –"

Wyatt's expression changed, his eyes flicking behind her for a moment. Lucy stepped forward, halfway to him now, her hands still raised.

She heard Flynn move. "Lucy, he's stalling, we need – "

 _Whack!_

Lucy turned to see Emma standing over Flynn, who sprawled on the ground. "Walk softly and carry a big stick," Emma said, swinging a tree branch.

Lucy spun back to face Wyatt, but his face had returned to hard professionalism. He holstered his gun and strode forward, closing the distance between them. "Easy now," he said as he gripped her wrist and her elbow and twisted her arm behind her back.

"No, no, no, no, _no_ – " Lucy tried to pull away, but stopped when her elbow flexed painfully in his hold. "Wyatt, this isn't _you_ , this isn't –"

"It is now, Princess," Emma said with a knowing smirk.

Lucy felt anger bubble up, pushing aside the despair. " _You did this!_ " she screamed, trying to lunge at Emma, but Wyatt's grip was firm.

"She was following _my_ plan." Lucy whipped her head around to see Carol dismounting from a horse.

" _Mom!_ How _could_ you? You _changed history_ to –"

Carol stepped forward. "I did what I had to do to keep you _safe_. I did what I had to do to bring you _home._ " She smiled, something sad in her expression. "This is a good thing, Lucy. You'll see."

Flynn groaned in the background, and Lucy saw Emma move into position with her own gun. "No!" Lucy screamed, but Carol raised her hand.

"Not _now_ , Emma." She looked again at Lucy. "Sergeant Logan, please escort my daughter to the Mothership. Make sure she's comfortable but secure."

"Yes ma'am," Wyatt said. Lucy tried to fight him, but he easily pulled her around and steered her forward down the path. She tried to break his grip again, but pain shot up her arm. "This will be much easier on you if you don't struggle," he said quietly.

"Wyatt –" she started again, but a horse whinnied nearby, followed by human shouts. Lucy heard hoofbeats, thundering closer, then horses appeared on the trail, surrounding them.

"Lucy!" Rufus called from astride one of the horses, and Lucy felt weak from relief. Men she recognized as Secret Service agents dismounted, as did uniformed park rangers, swarming in on Emma, Carol, and Wyatt.

"Hands up!" a ranger shouted. "Release the lady!"

Wyatt's grip tightened on her wrist for an instant and she knew he was assessing these new opponents. To Lucy's surprise, he released her and stepped backwards. Two agents moved forward and pulled him away, his hands over his head and his expression resigned.

"Are you all right, madam?" the ranger asked Lucy.

"I'm fine, just – _Flynn!_ "

"He's okay!" Rufus replied. He crouched beside Flynn, who sat splayed on the ground, hand on the back of his head and glaring at the park ranger checking him over for injuries. Lucy nodded and turned back to the ranger who held Wyatt. A Secret Service agent had stepped in, ready with handcuffs.

"Ah, agent – Sir?" Lucy called, and the agent looked up. "This man –" she took a deep breath. _I'm not betraying him, I'm not. This is different._ "He knows how to pick just about any lock made."

Wyatt looked up, surprised, as the agent secured him.

"Make sure you search him for anything he could use to jimmy a lock," Lucy continued. "Even a paperclip or a nail could mean he gets away."

Wyatt stared at her. She met his eyes, feeling despair and exhaustion creeping up on her at the suspicion on his face.

"Come along, then," the agent said, and pulled Wyatt along down the path. He glanced back at Lucy once, brow still furrowed. She couldn't help smiling sadly. Her hand twitched, wanting to wave, and she clenched her fingers.

Rufus stepped up beside her. "You think that'll hold him?"

Lucy shrugged. "Not for long, but hopefully for long enough. Roosevelt leaves Yosemite tomorrow and started talking about his conservation plans immediately, so I one night should be enough." She took a deep breath against the sob rising in her throat as Wyatt disappeared around a bend in the path. Emma and Carol and their own escorts followed a moment later. "How did you find me?"

"Carol left Yosemite Village, and Wyatt was already gone, so I told the _actual_ secret service that she and Frederick were up to no good."

"You told the _truth_?"

"I know! I panicked. But they found a gun on Frederick and then searched his room and found more guns, and then they noticed Wyatt was gone and they put two and two together and rode out! I just sort of tagged along."

They turned back to Flynn, in time to see him wave off help from the park ranger tending to him. He stood up, swayed a little, but shook his head when Rufus offered him a hand.

The ranger turned to Lucy. "He may have a concussion," he said. "But he's refused to let us take him to the infirmary, so you'll need to watch him – and I wouldn't let him back on a horse for several days, at least."

"Of course," Lucy replied. "Thank you for your help. All of it."

"It's our pleasure, ma'am. Are you sure you don't need an escort back to the hotel?"

"No, we'll make our own way back, but thank you."

The ranger nodded one last time before turning back to his fellows and their horses. Beside Lucy, Flynn muttered something unintelligible.

"What's that?"

"I _said_ , I've been concussed enough times in my life to know that I'm not now."

"So what now?" Rufus asked.

Lucy took a deep breath, trying to clear her head and focus. "Now, we go back to the hotel and wait for Roosevelt and the Mothership to leave."

"Hopefully, it's that easy."

"Maybe we'll get lucky this time."

" _Right._ "

Lucy stepped into the woods to retrieve her horse, which grazed placidly nearby in the underbrush. It followed her willingly as they set off down the trail. Above them, the last sunlight painted the cliffs and mountains golden, and the crisp air smelled of pine and river.

"Well," Rufus said. "We may not have Wyatt back yet, but this is a pretty great thing to have helped save."

* * *

 _Research notes and select sources posted on the Archive of Our Own listing for this story._


	4. Chapter 4

The bunker felt stale and dark after Yosemite's mountain forests. Lucy stumbled as she stepped out of the Lifeboat, accepting Flynn's arm for balance. He steadied her as she swayed on her feet.

"Are you okay?" Christopher asked from her post at the control center.

Lucy shrugged. "Jiya, could you pull up the history of the National Park Service?"

Jiya tapped her keyboard, then read aloud. "The National Park Service was created on August 25, 1916 when President Woodrow Wilson created a new bureau in the Department of the Interior... however, the foundations for the National Park Service were laid during the Roosevelt administration. Many historians point to Roosevelt's 1903 camping trip with John Muir in Yosemite National Park as the birth of the modern National Park system, and Roosevelt later went on to protect over 230 million acres of federal land, earning him the nickname 'the Conservation President.'" Jiya looked up. "Is that enough?"

"Yeah," Lucy responded, wiping her eyes. "It doesn't sound like anything changed." She gave Flynn a quick smile, then headed for the kitchen area.

"And Logan?" Christopher asked.

"We ran into him," Rufus admitted, following Lucy. "He was definitely working with Emma and Carol, but he didn't look happy about it."

"How so?"

Lucy poured water into the kettle, set it on the stove. She took the tea sampler off the shelf, then started to reach for a mug. Flynn beat her to it, taking two mugs out of the holder. He turned around and used them to gesture around the room.

"None for me, please," Christopher said, and Mason shook his head.

"Yeah, something soothing for me," Rufus responded. "Chamomile? Is that soothing? Anyway... our Wyatt... I don't think he'd ever admit it, but he loves this job. That Wyatt... he looked like he was just going through the motions. Following orders."

Christopher crossed her arms. "What do you think that means?"

Rufus shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. The only time we ever saw Wyatt disobey orders was to try to save someone he cared about, so I don't know what good it does us."

"Jiya, did you want any tea?" Lucy called, tearing open teabag wrappers.

"Yeah, something decaf for me, please."

Flynn set another mug on the counter.

Lucy stared at the tea kettle, listening to the water simmer inside it. "He gave up without a fight," she murmured.

"What was that, Lucy?" Christopher asked.

"Wyatt." She looked up. "Wyatt and Emma and... Carol had us – had me – and then Rufus arrived with the cavalry –"

"Literally," Rufus interjected.

"It was great, Rufus," Lucy reassured him. "The Secret Service and the Park Rangers got there and surrounded us and Wyatt just... surrendered."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Rufus said. "Lucy had to talk our Wyatt out of dying at the Alamo for some misplaced sense of duty, and this time he just put his hands up and let them take his gun?"

"I wish I had seen _that_ ," Flynn muttered, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

"I wish I hadn't," Rufus said. "It was weird."

Christopher looked between each of them. "How so?"

The kettle whistled and Lucy busied herself pouring hot water into the waiting mugs.

Flynn cleared his throat. "During our time as... opponents... I found Wyatt's refusal to give up even in the face of superior numbers quite irritating. That he would just surrender – _sensibly_ I might add – well. It could mean a lot of things."

Lucy put the kettle down and turned away.

"Lucy, are you okay?" Christopher asked, concern in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to grab a shower and then go to sleep." _For a week,_ she thought. _Maybe forever_.

The pipes creaked and groaned as Lucy kicked off her clothes and waited for the shower to run hot.

She turned it up almost to scalding and stood in the spray, folding her arms against her chest and letting the water roll down her neck and shoulders. The room felt drafty and chilly around her, sound echoing off the bare walls.

She scrubbed herself until she felt raw, then shut off the water. She toweled off, wrapped her hair up, and squeezed the water out. She shrugged into her bathrobe and pulled it tight, fussing with the ties. Brushing her teeth and flossing took more time, as did applying toner and moisturizer to her face, combing out her damp hair, and carefully putting everything back into her shower caddy.

Lucy leaned on the sink and stared at her reflection. _You can't hide in the bathroom forever_. She forced herself to move, grabbing her towel and dirty clothes.

In the corridor, she almost turned back to the common area, the temptation to sleep on the couch for another night very strong, but the murmur of voices made her turn away, back towards the bedrooms. She stopped in front of the first door, pausing to breathe as the walls threatened to close in around her.

 _It's just a bedroom,_ she reminded herself _. It's not even_ your _bedroom, you're just staying here, for now._

Lucy pushed the door open. The reading light illuminated her mug of tea waiting on the bedside table, a dish over the top to keep the heat in. Beside it sat the book she'd been reading _before_. Her scant belongings were in place, and she found clean underwear and pajamas in the wardrobe. Her slippers were half under her bed, where she usually left them.

The other half of the room was empty, the bed neatly made. Before they'd left for 1968 Washington DC, the two single cots had been pushed together, mirroring the way Jiya and Rufus had set up the other double room. The room now looked bare and grim with the untouched bed, without Wyatt's gear sorted onto shelves, his towel spread out to dry on the footboard.

Lucy changed into her pajamas and pulled back the blankets and settled into bed. She stretched to turn out the light, then scooted around so that she lay with her back against the wall, staring into the darkness. She tried to clear her mind, to breathe deep and concentrate on the rhythm of _inhale, hold, exhale, hold,_ and for a few moments it almost worked, her body relaxing and her thoughts going still.

Then she remembered breathing the same rhythm in the darkness of Wendell Scott's trunk, her rising panic giving way to intense awareness of Wyatt as he wrapped himself around her, how their breath mingled, the way she could feel his voice rumble in his chest. The memory jolted through her, tingling through her spine, her heart racing as her breath caught in her throat.

Just as quickly, she remembered the Wyatt they'd met in Yosemite, stiff and unsmiling despite the recognition in his eyes, following Carol's orders without question.

She swallowed against a sob and focused on her breathing again, and the memory of _her_ Wyatt. The strength of his hugs, the sudden brightness of his smiles, the way he said _Lucy_ , a resonance to it just for her.

Their first mission as something more than friends and partners, just a few days after their trip to old Hollywood, they had followed the mothership to 1893 Chicago again. The February weather stayed cold and dreary, but that new connection with Wyatt crackled like electricity. Lucy had been intensely aware of him the entire time, every touch to her back or arm lightning to her nerves as they followed the sleeper agent through the city to a drafty meeting hall.

They'd grabbed each other's hands as they waited, tense, through debates and counter-arguments, and Wyatt had steadied Lucy as she rose to speak. After Emma was both thrown out of the meeting and arrested, when the opinions in the room on the next day's vote seemed to favor founding the American Railway Union as planned, he had swept her around and kissed her soundly.

Giddy with success, they found a hotel in a part of town that didn't look askance at a Black man arriving in company with a white couple. Rufus checked in first, then Lucy stepped up to the desk, Wyatt beside her.

"One room or two?" the clerk had asked.

Lucy had grabbed Wyatt's hand. "Just one. For my _husband_ and I," she'd said. He'd squeezed her hand and her smile was mirrored on his face.

Rufus had rolled his eyes. "Newlyweds," he'd told the clerk.

"Newlyweds," Wyatt had repeated, nudging Lucy's shoulder with his own.

Later, after she at last stripped Wyatt of his suspenders and stiff shirt, after they'd laughed together as she shrugged and shimmied out of the layers of her dress while he helped and hindered, after they'd tumbled onto the bed, skin against skin, and moved as one, they curled together against the chill.

"This is nice," he'd said against her neck, his voice gravely.

"Yeah," she had replied, pulling his arm tighter around her. He'd kissed her shoulder, stubble dragging against her bare skin.

"You were amazing today," he'd murmured. "I thought for sure they were going to listen to Emma."

"I did, too," Lucy had whispered. "I thought for sure that we were about to be facing an angry mob."

"But you did it again," he whispered, his lips brushing her the skin behind ear. "You saved history, and what – the first railroad union?"

"One of the first railroad unions, and the first one to successfully strike. This summer, hopefully."

"That's my girl," he'd whispered, pulling her even closer, and kissed her.

They'd slept lightly that night, still unused to sharing a bed and the mattress hard and lumpy besides, but each time she'd woken, she'd been warm and happy in Wyatt's arms.

Alone in her room in the bunker, Lucy squeezed her eyes closed against tears.

* * *

Lucy woke the next morning, groggy and feeling like she'd barely just dozed off. The artificial daylight buzzed ever so slightly during its half hour creep from dim to bright, a whine that became less tolerable every day. She scrubbed a hand through her hair, shoved her feet into her slippers, and picked up her book, then made her way to the common area.

Flynn was already up, sitting at one of the tables with yesterday's newspaper and a steaming mug, his feet propped up on a chair. The coffee maker burbled, a fresh pot ready and a mug waiting beside it.

"Hey," Lucy said as she poured for herself, stirred in cream and sugar.

"Hey yourself," Flynn responded, and pushed the unread sections of the paper to the edge of the table. Lucy sat down across from him, setting her book beside her mug but not opening it. She glanced at him between sips of coffee.

He continued reading for a few moments, then folded the paper and set it down, let his feet drop to the floor, and rested his hands on the table.

Lucy looked back down at her coffee. "Are we going to talk about how you let Emma sneak up behind you and knock you out?"

Flynn shrugged. "If you want."

Lucy waited, but he stayed silent. "Well?" she finally asks.

"I thought you were going to talk about it."

Lucy glared at him. He smirked.

She sighed. "Honestly, though. You were so distracted by trying to protect me that you weren't able to protect yourself, and I _still_ ended up facing Emma on my own."

Flynn's smile faded.

"Before you got there, Wyatt and I were just _talking_. I don't –"

"Lucy." Flynn fiddled with his coffee mug, turning it slowly on the table. "I've fought with men like Wyatt, and against men like Wyatt. Special Forces soldiers. _'Operators_.' Elite American troops backing the wrong warlord. Wyatt – _our_ Wyatt – I don't think you realize how much you and Rufus have shaped him."

Lucy dropped her gaze, staring at her own mug.

"I admit that, before we came to this... _place_..." his shrug took in both the bunker and the people within, "I came to rely on Wyatt choosing to protect you over executing his _mission objective_ , more than once. He was very predictable in that.

"When I saw him in the woods with you in Yosemite, he – _that_ Wyatt... that is not the man you've come to know." He raised his hand to cut off Lucy's protest. "I saw him, and I thought ' _enemy._ ' I thought – Lucy, I saw him maneuvering you into a trap, and all I could think of was getting you safe." He set his hand back on the table and looked away.

Tears burned in her eyes as she thought of Wyatt's rare real smiles, wide and bright and gentle. "Do... do you think he's still there, somehow? Our Wyatt?" she asked.

Flynn sighed. "I don't know. He could be." Somewhere deeper in the bunker a fan rumbled to life, the mechanical rumble echoing through the air.

"He didn't hurt me," Lucy said slowly. Flynn looked up at her. "If Emma had grabbed me, she would have made it hurt. Wyatt just – he locked my arm behind me, but it only hurt when I tried to move. That has to mean something."

"Maybe." Flynn didn't sound convinced.

"I'll take any hope I can get." Her words came out sharper than intended, but she didn't apologize.

Flynn leaned back, crossing his arms. "Then what now?"

Lucy took a deep breath. "Now... we start figuring out what happened."

* * *

After breakfast, everyone fell into the familiar routine of occupying themselves while waiting for the mothership to jump, splitting off into the established chores rotation and then to their own tasks.

Lucy cleaned the kitchen in haste, then settled into the dining area with a commandeered laptop and three legal pads. She sent a quick text to Agent Christopher, then pulled the photocopies she'd requested of Wyatt's service records.

Flynn strolled in after he finished cleaning the bathroom and looked over the table where she's spread the file to compare with the electronic versions. "Need any help?"

"Not with this part, but..." Lucy tapped her pen against the table. "Could you research the 2011 terror attack, instead?"

"Yes, Professor."

She smiled despite herself, feeling better.

Lucy went through Wyatt's records again page by page, as Flynn set up on the couch with another laptop borrowed from the control room. She took notes on each assignment, cohort, and commanding officer, interleaving her yellow notepapers with the official reports and laying them out on the table chronologically.

"What's this?" Mason stood in the hallway, peering at them.

"We're working on why this timeline's Wyatt Logan is working with Rittenhouse, rather than with us."

Mason nodded. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Actually..." Lucy pointed to her laptop. "Can you get this to talk to the printer and scanner?"

"Of course."

Lucy stood to stretch as Mason fussed with network settings.

"Guys, get this!" Rufus yelled from the control room.

"What?"

Rufus and Jiya hurried into the dining area, holding a laptop between them. "Jiya finished analyzing the mothership's log from our trip to 1968. She –"

"The mothership made _two_ more jumps," Jiya picked up. "It jumped to Vietnam while you three were in Washington DC, and _then,_ while you were traveling back to now, it jumped to September Third, 1969, near Columbus, Georgia. They spent less than two hours there before hopping back to the present."

"What's in Columbus –" Flynn started.

"1969?" Lucy asked.

" _While_ the Lifeboat was mid-jump?" Connor demanded.

"Yes! They must have jumped to the present, waited for the Lifeboat to jump, and then gone back. They're trying to hide their tracks, but Jiya –" Rufus paused to kiss her cheek "– is too smart for them."

Jiya grinned as she turned to Lucy. "What's in Columbus, Georgia on September Third, 1969?"

Lucy shrugged. "Nothing that jumps out."

"What did I miss?"

Everyone turned to see Agent Christopher in the entrance to the common area, an oversized shopping bag in hand.

"Just Jiya being her usual genius self," Rufus said.

"Of course." Christopher nodded at Lucy. "I got your text. What do you need with post-it notes, highlighters, sharpies, and an easel pad?" She stepped into the common area and saw the papers and folders and computers and tablets spread out on every table.

"What's this?" she asked as she passed the bag to Lucy.

"Rittenhouse changed something. I'm trying to figure out what."

"Is this about Wyatt Logan?"

"Yes," Lucy admitted. "But if they did something to put Wyatt on their side, then what else did they change? And why did they target _Wyatt_?"

Christopher studied the lists and notes spread out on the tables and Lucy braced herself for a lecture.

"What can I do to help?"

"Oh, um – is there a way for me to get more information on some of Wyatt's cohort and commanding officers? Personnel files and assignments."

"That could be difficult. If they're not related to one of my cases, I'll have a hard time pulling their service records without raising a lot of flags in our system. I'll see what I can do. Make me a list of anyone who's high priority to look into. Anything else?"

"Well, I need a credit card so that I can subscribe to some professional history journals. And newspaper archives, the ones that are digitized."

"That I can do. Both Jiya and my techs at Homeland assure me that there's no way for Rittenhouse or anyone else to track your internet usage to this location."

"Okay. Also... were you able to get anything about the 2011 terror attack?"

"I'm still working on it. I have some strings I can pull if I need to."

"Thanks, Denise." Lucy unwrapped the easel pad, pleased to find that it was the self-sticky kind she preferred. She used a sharpie to write "March 16, 1968: Washington, D.C." on the top sheet. She flipped to the next sheet of paper and wrote "March 16, 1968: Vietnam," then "September 3, 1969: Columbus, Georgia" on a third sheet. She stood and took the pad and the post-it notes with her to the edge of the room, then stuck the first sheet on the wall at eye level.

"And what are these?" Christopher asked.

"These..." Lucy started, sticking the second sheet to the wall, "Are the three times and places that the Mothership visited on our last trip, according to what Rufus and Jiya just pulled from the Lifeboat." She wrote "My Lai Massacre" on a post-it note and stuck it to the Vietnam sheet, then started to write "RFK announces presidential campaign" on a second note.

"The _what_ Massacre?" Christopher asked.

Lucy stared at her. "The My Lai Massacre?" At Denise's blank look, she continued. "During the Vietnam War – US soldiers killed over five hundred innocent villagers in an unprovoked attack."

She looked around the room. Flynn and Rufus nodded, but Christopher, Mason, and Jiya looked baffled.

"Children and babies shot in front of their mothers?" Lucy asked. "Gang rapes, women mutilated? Men too old to fight mowed down in their own fields? Coverup from the brass? Big exposé? Blaming officers already killed in action? Color photos of bodies in ditches in Life magazine? Court martials? Overturned sentences? Possibly the turning point for public sentiment against the Vietnam War?"

"A helicopter crew intervened," Flynn interjected. "They probably stopped the army from killing even more non-combatants, but then they were labeled traitors by the military."

"Right," Lucy said, grateful. "It took thirty years for the government to apologize for that, and –"

"Lucy," Christopher started. "I've never heard of the My Lai Massacre, or anything like what you're describing."

"Okay, wait. Wait." Lucy hurried back to her table and pulled the laptop to her, opening a browser and going to Wikipedia. " Vietnam... March Sixteenth, Nineteen Sixty-Eight... Okay, here we go: ' _The Pinkville Incident._ Early in the morning of March Sixteenth, Charlie Company, First Battalion, Twentieth Infantry Regiment, Eleventh Brigade, Twenty-Third Infantry Division raided the village of Son My and several surrounding hamlets to flush out remnants of the National Liberation Front (known also as Viet Cong) suspected of being harbored by villagers.

"'During the skirmish, one hundred twenty-eight Viet Cong and twenty-two villagers were killed in the hamlet of My Lai in a 'fierce firefight.' Helicopter gunships and artillery missions supported the ground elements throughout the day. General Westmoreland, the MACV commander, later congratulated the unit on the 'outstanding job.'"

Lucy stared at the computer. "'This article is a stub. You can help Wikipedia by expanding it.'"

Rufus spoke up. "Okay, _I've_ heard of the My Lai massacre, and that's all there is on Wikipedia?"

Lucy switched to an academic index, skimming dates and titles. "There's... virtually nothing in the history journals about it, either, and I usually saw at least three term papers every time I taught my 114 class."

"Okay, but why would Rittenhouse bother to _stop_ something like this?" Jiya asked.

"I don't –" Lucy cut herself off. "What time did the mothership jump to? In Vietnam? What was the local time?"

Jiya glanced down, tapping a few keys. "They jumped to... a little after eight pm, Vietnam time. They spent about half an hour there. Thirty-six minutes, then they jumped back to Washington."

"They didn't stop it," Lucy said. "The raid was over before noon, I think. Certainly well before evening."

Christopher tapped her fingers on the table. "So Emma spends thirty-six minutes in Vietnam the night of an event that you say was widely publicized, and now we've never heard of it? What could she have done?"

Lucy sighed "I guess that's what we have to figure out." She waved at the table in front of her, at Wyatt's service records. "That, and what it affected to make Wyatt change sides." She tapped her pen on the table, thinking, then turned to Flynn. "Tell me about the 2011 terror attack."

Flynn shrugged. "There's not much to tell. The newspapers and public reports detail where the bombs were placed and when they went off and who was killed, but they say very little about the why and the who behind it. Nor are there credible forensic reports on the kind of explosives used. There's a lot of ridiculous speculation and conspiracy theories, but no trials, no indictments, no suspects. In the public record, at least." He leaned back in his chair. "I was thinking of reaching out to some of my old contacts. See what the... _international_ take on the incident is." He nodded at Christopher. "With your permission, of course."

Christopher was too professional to roll her eyes. "I don't have to tell you not to leave any footprints, right?"

"I'm insulted that you considered you might have to."

* * *

Evening came again, the artificial daylight fading, and Lucy swallowed down her growing anxiety. She curled up on the couch in the common room, trying to read, as she sorted through what she'd learned and delayed returning to the empty bedroom. Starting a research project usually filled her with excitement about the possibilities to discover, but this time she just felt sick. She stifled a yawn, rereading a paragraph for the third time.

Flynn strolled into the common area, startling her, and he put the kettle on for hot water. "Tea?" he asked.

"Yeah. Please." She ran her hands through her hair, then rested her head on her hands. The quiet sounds of tea-making filtered through the bunker's ever-present background hum.

Soon, Flynn sat down on the other couch, holding out a steaming mug. Lucy took it, cupping it in her hands. He held his own mug, leaning back against the couch.

"What's wrong, Lucy? Other than the obvious." His half-shrug took in the entire bunker, the Lifeboat waiting just down the hall.

Lucy sighed and looked away. "I just... our – my room. This is silly, but, it's just so... _big_. With only one person." _Without Wyatt_. "Would you..." she trailed off, not quite knowing what she's asking for.

"Lucy, are you asking me to spend the night with you?"

She felt her face flame and fought down sudden tears. "Well, if you put it that way, then _no_. Forget I said anything. I'll just – "

"Lucy." She looked up, expecting to see Flynn's smirk, but his face held only concern. "I'm sorry. I'll gladly sleep on the empty bunk." The gentleness in his voice nearly brought fresh tears to her eyes.

"Okay," she says, sniffing.

"I'll warn you, though. I've been told I snore."

She smiled despite herself.

* * *

Lucy woke the next morning, the first stirrings of panic rising in her throat when she saw the empty bed across the room. She calmed, though, at the wrinkles in the bedspread, Flynn's pajama pants and t-shirt folded on the pillow, his towel slung across the footboard. The smell of coffee lingered in the air.

Flynn sat in the dining area, reading the paper, when Lucy emerged from the bedroom. An empty mug and the sugar jar waited for her by the coffee machine. She fixed her coffee and wandered down the hallway to where her easel papers hung on the wall. She reviewed the sticky notes and color-coded scribbles on each one as she sipped, formulating her next steps and leads to pursue. She felt better, more clear-headed than she had been yesterday, and –

The mothership alarm blared and Lucy nearly spilled her coffee.

Doors banged behind her as she walked to the control room, Flynn folding his newspaper and standing to follow. Rufus ran past, but Jiya already had the coordinates up.

"Okay, got it – November 3, 1702. Looks like... Atlantic coast Florida. Just a little south of where Jacksonville – "

"The Siege of St. Augustine," Lucy declared.

Everyone turned to her.

"The 1702 Siege of St. Augustine. Nine hundred or so English colonists and allied Native Americans attacked the village and fort of St. Augustine, which was the capital of Spanish Florida."

"Okay... why?" Rufus asked.

Lucy sighed. "This took two weeks to cover in my graduate seminar on Pre-Revolutionary War North American Politics, but the gist is that the British colonists wanted to stop slaves escaping to Florida, where the Spanish promised them freedom if they helped defend the territory against the British. There were skirmishes for decades, but in 1702 the new governor of Carolina Province, James Moore, led a small army into Florida to try to take St. Augustine and start driving the Spanish out."

"Try?"

"St. Augustine was well-fortified, and a Spanish fleet arrived to reinforce the town before Moore was able to take it. Moore and his army fled back to Carolina, and the Spanish held Florida until 1821." She paced, mentally skimming through her lecture notes. "The siege was considered a catastrophic failure, and Moore was forced to resign the governorship shortly after he returned to Charleston."

Around her, the rest of the team waited for her to continue. "If... okay, if Rittenhouse sways the siege of St. Augustine in Moore's favor, then it could lead to the British controlling Florida much earlier. And that could lead to –" she broke off, feeling cold. Something must have shown on her face, because Rufus's voice was sharp.

"What?"

Lucy looked up at him. "If the British colonized the entire Eastern Seaboard prior to 1776, it would completely change the way the United States was formed. Florida could become one of the original colonies, the balance of slave-holding states could shift, the American Revolution could happen earlier, or not at all – there's so many possibilities, I can't even begin to tally up what could change."

She glanced around and found everyone staring at her with different expressions ranging from dismay to horror.

Flynn finally cleared his throat and broke the silence. "Well, let's get moving, then.

* * *

So much for updating every week or two...

Thanks very much to extasiswings for looking over a draft for characterization, and to redbrunja for being a sounding board for this and other stories.

Select Works Cited posted on AO3.


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